The Intern Blues(7)

Wednesday, July 24, 1985, 12:20 A.M.

The month’s almost over and I’m looking at the end with mixed feelings. On the one hand, this ER stuff is starting to get pretty old. It gets repetitive and frustrating after a while. But on the other hand, I can’t say I’m looking forward with any great excitement to being in the NICU next month. I basically like to work decent hours; I don’t like staying up all night, which is what you have to do in the NICU. Thank God there’re caffeine and other stimulants.

Actually, I’ve never taken other stimulants. I never liked the idea of speed. Of course, I’ve never had to go for more than twenty hours without sleep. Being exhausted and having a little twelve-hundred-gram baby crumping [trying to die; deteriorating] in front of you, that kind of gets you worried.

Sunday, July 28, 1985

I had a really wonderful weekend. I was on call Friday night and it was really quiet. I got home at twelve-thirty and Karen was here. She had just gotten in. We stayed up and talked until I was too tired to stay awake and then we went to sleep. It was restful, relaxing, and wonderful. Then today we were down in Manhattan and I saw Karen off to her bus to the airport and I started feeling very sad again. I’ve felt kind of sad and kind of nervous and lonely all day.

I took the train back home. That’s the worst part for me: coming home to an empty apartment, knowing no one’s going to come home after me, that I’m not waiting for anybody, I’m home and that’s it. I called a couple of people; I called my friend Anne from medical school. She’s an intern in Boston. We had a nice talk. Then I called my mom, who had just gotten home from England, and we talked for a long time. Then I got ahold of my intern friends Ellen and Ron, and we went out for some dinner. That was nice; I needed the companionship, I needed to be with people I felt close to.

And tomorrow morning I start my new rotation in the neonatal intensive-care unit, and I’m on call the first night. I’ve heard all sorts of horror stories about being an intern in the NICU.

It’s only been a month since I started, and I can already see a big change in myself. I don’t think anyone outside of medicine really understands what this whole thing is about. I’ve had trouble explaining my life this month to people, and I’m sure next month is going to be even more impossible to explain. I’m starting to think that it probably isn’t even worth the effort for me to try. Most people in the nonmedical public, they have their own ideas about what doctors should be like, and I don’t think they want to have those ideas shattered. They don’t want to know about the long hours and the lack of sleep and everything else. They have these myths that we’re all like Dr. Kildare or Marcus Welby. I hate to disappoint them by telling them the truth.





Amy


JULY 1985

Tuesday, July 2, 1985

The hardest part of this year is definitely going to be leaving Sarah. There’s no question about it. I’m not sure yet what being an intern is going to be like, but I am sure of one thing: There’s nothing they can make me do that could possibly be any harder than saying good-bye to the baby was for me yesterday morning.

Some people might think it a little strange to have a child two months before you start an internship. Well, there are a lot of things that went into our decision. First and foremost, Larry and I have wanted a baby ever since we got married. We both love children; that’s really the main reason I decided to go into pediatrics in the first place.

Another reason has to do with my family. My mother died when I was in college. I still haven’t gotten over it. Ever since, I’ve wanted to have a baby, a girl, and name her for my mother. That’s been very important to me. That’s why our baby is named Sarah.

I guess the third reason has to do with my miscarriage. I was pregnant when I was a third-year student. That one wasn’t planned; I just got pregnant. Larry and I were both happy about it. I went to my obstetrician’s office when I was about ten weeks and he heard the fetal heart. Everything seemed to be going fine, but then two days later, I started to have some pains and Larry had to take me over to the Jonas Bronck emergency room, where the miscarriage was diagnosed. They did a D and C and sent me home. If I hadn’t lost that pregnancy, I’d have had the baby in the beginning of my fourth year of med school, which would have been perfect: I would have been able to take some time off then; things aren’t too hectic in the fourth year. And I’d have had a one-year-old at this point, and leaving a one-year-old all day with a sitter isn’t as bad as leaving a two-month-old. But having had that miscarriage, I started to wonder whether there was something wrong with me. I thought I’d never be able to have a baby. I guess I became obsessed with it.